


An Off Day

by MrsHamill



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Character Study, M/M, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-10
Updated: 2006-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:44:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shallow cuts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Off Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of an experiment. My goal was to find out just how fucked up I could make Sheppard and still keep him in character. I've noticed a few things about how the character is written and played, and really wonder if it's possible to look at that vulnerability and still be true to who and what the character is. There is a WARNING: features cutting and talk of suicide. I welcome debate on whether or not I succeeded.

"How far in advance can we book days off?"

That was the last thing Rodney heard Major Sheppard say for more than eighteen hours. What with all the needed repairs, with all the evacuees returning, with all the things Rodney needed to see to himself (because no one else was capable), he didn't notice the fact that the Major was MIA. Elizabeth stopped him a couple of times and asked him if he'd seen Sheppard, and Rodney always frowned and said of course he hadn't. He figured Sheppard was taking some well-deserved downtime; after all, he'd nearly single-handedly saved the city from the Genii -- well, saved it so that Rodney could save it.

Whatever. The meaning was the same.

By the end of the long, busy day (which followed the even longer, even busier night), Rodney finally made it to the infirmary where Carson had a nurse bandage him properly. "Really, Rodney, you should have known better than to put a bandage around your jacket," Carson admonished from his chair. He'd checked himself out of a bed but every time he tried to rise to take care of something, someone on his staff would yell or glare and he'd sit back down. Rodney found it oddly disconcerting -- if he'd been the one with a concussion, his staff would be holding a party, not caring for him like this.

"It hurt to take the shirt off," Rodney said, then added, "Ow!"

"It's a nasty looking thing but you won't need stitches," the nurse told him. "It's mostly closed now anyway." 

"Be careful!" Rodney said with another wince. She absolutely didn't have to be so rough with him. "I'm right handed, you know, I need that arm."

She rolled her eyes and continued in her ministrations, ignoring his further protestations.

"Rodney," Carson said, as the nurse was finishing up, "have you seen Major Sheppard? Elizabeth said he'd likely need some looking after but he's not answering his radio."

"I'm sure he's catching some very well deserved zees," Rodney replied. "You should have seen him, Carson. He was incredible. He killed more than half the Genii forces, all by himself. If it wasn't for him..." Rodney trailed off, blinking in surprise. "If it wasn't for him, Elizabeth and I would be dead," he finished, far more quietly than he'd started. And Atlantis would have been destroyed, too.

Carson was giving him the fisheye. "Having problems sharing the limelight, are we?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Of course not. I have my own talents, he has his. I would never have been able to do what he did."

"I'm surprised he did, actually," Carson said.

The nurse patted Rodney on the arm and left with her supplies. Rodney perched on the edge of Carson's desk. "What do you mean?"

Carson sighed. "I don't know. It's just... you know, he's not a Marine."

"Oh." Rodney frowned. "I suppose that's right. He's a pilot, isn't he?"

"He's Air Force," Carson said gently. "Now, I dinna know much about the Americans, but the RAF is a wee bit different than the Army. They don't really fight, now, do they?"

"I never thought about it," Rodney said, and he hadn't. He'd come to think of the whole military complex as one, big, happy, murderous family and each piece within it as about the same as another. 

"My uncle was in the RAF, he served in World War II. He used to tell us stories about dropping bombs on Jerries." Carson made a face. "He was a decorated war hero but he used to tell us that he never really killed anyone -- face to face, I came to understand -- and that he was glad for it."

"Hmm," Rodney said, frowning. He held the thought in his head for a little while, wondering about how many people Major Sheppard had killed in his life, wondering what it would be like to kill someone in cold blood. Wondering what it would be like to sacrifice yourself for something you believed in. He'd almost done that with that murderous bastard Genii, stepping in front of Elizabeth. But it had been a calculated move on his part, he was certain the man would back down before killing him. Reasonably certain.

Elizabeth found him in the mess hall, where he was just finishing a well-deserved dinner. She sat opposite him and leaned close. "Rodney, I can't find Major Sheppard."

Rodney blinked at her. "He's not in his quarters?"

"No. He's not responding to radio, and no one has seen him for several hours." She looked on the verge of panic and it made Rodney even more surprised.

"Have Peter run a life-signs--"

"We already have. I think he can mask his presence in the city, but I'm not sure." They were still speaking very quietly. "Regardless, we can't find him."

"Then do a search, have Bates--"

"I'd rather not." Elizabeth swallowed and leaned even closer, speaking even more quietly. "Bates and I were the last to see him, just after Bates returned from the alpha site. Bates was congratulating him, grudgingly, of course," she rolled her eyes, "but talking about the dead bodies, the temporary morgue, basically giving Sheppard kudos for killing so many men. And Sheppard..." She trailed off and looked down. "John was getting quieter and quieter. And pale. I didn't really notice and I should have. Right after that, he disappeared."

Rodney blew out a breath. "I still think a room by room search..."

"I don't. I'm not sure what's going on with him, but I'd rather shield it from the military presence unless I absolutely can't. You have the gene, now. Do you think you could find him? I do have Peter doing a very quiet sweep, electronically. But someone should be..."

"I'll go look," Rodney said, surprising himself. It wasn't his job, it wasn't his care, yet Sheppard had saved all of them, more than once, and he had become... a friend. That rarest of all things, at least to one Rodney McKay. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Rodney," Elizabeth said. "Let me know what you find."

Rodney walked out of the mess hall, lost in thought. It was obvious Elizabeth thought something was up with Sheppard, maybe a little PTSD, which would make sense. But if Sheppard had gone to ground, that meant he wanted to deal with whatever monsters in his id by himself. Rodney had been to far too many shrinks and could empathize; the damned leeches drove him nuts. He stopped at his lab and grabbed one of the life sign detectors, half a dozen powerbars, a bottle of water and left again. It was getting dark and the lights were beginning to come on all over the city so he grabbed a flashlight as well.

"If I were John Sheppard, where would I be?" Rodney murmured to himself, staring at the map of Atlantis in the nearest transporter. The vast majority of the city was unknown to them, they'd been a little busy trying to stay alive to worry about exploration, but Rodney knew the city about as well as Sheppard did. They'd even talked about it several times, Sheppard mentioning how he'd seen some furnished living quarters at the... "The east pier. The apartments." Almost certain his conclusion was correct, he touched the transporter and walked out near the enormous east pier.

Many of the apartments had not been flooded; they'd been sealed before their last owners had left and so had withstood the shield failure. The problem had been that they were miles from the central tower and there was that pesky trying-to-stay-alive thing still ongoing, or else they'd have opened them up for habitation.

Rodney wandered around for close to an hour, watching the detector, hoping to see another blip. Just as he was about to give up, he found that blip in an apartment overlooking the ocean, as far away from the central pillar as possible while still remaining in the city. He hurried down the stairs and banged on the door. "Major?!"

There was no answer. But it was the right place, he became sure of it when he tried to open the door and it wouldn't. But there was more than one way to get in and it didn't take Rodney long to figure out how.

The place was small, about the size of a luxury studio apartment on the East Side of New York. There were some small pieces of furniture including a nicely-sized bed with a colorful blanket on it. There were two doors, one on each side; one led to a kitchen and the other to a bathroom -- or so he surmised by the sound of running water he heard.

"Major?" Rodney walked to the door of the bathroom, which was ajar. He expected to see billows of steam come out but there wasn't. Not really wanting to interrupt the guy's shower, Rodney knocked and pushed the door open a bit more but deliberately looked opposite from the shower noises. "Sheppard? Is that you? We've been..."

He hadn't expected the mirrored wall. In it, he saw the reflection of a huddled, pale figure in the corner of a large shower stall. His eyes widened in shock as he realized it was Sheppard and further that the water beating down on him must have been cold. "Jesus! Sheppard, what the hell are you doing?"

Jumping into the room, Rodney reached into the stall and turned the (ice cold, it was ice cold and how long had Sheppard been in there?) water off. There was a stack of thin, government issue towels on the floor next to Sheppard's clothing and he grabbed them, draping them over Sheppard's icy body.

That's when he noticed the blood.

"Oh, God. I need Carson, I need to get..."

Sheppard looked up at him, pale, confused eyes in a paler face framed by wet, dark hair. "McKay?"

"You're bleeding. I need to get you dry and to Carson, we need to--"

"No, no please." Sheppard wasn't even shivering and his lips were a very bad color indeed. Rodney didn't know much about medicine but he knew hypothermia when he saw it. "Please don't."

Rodney pulled Sheppard's arms out, away from his body, tried to dry him. "Where are you bleeding? We've been looking all over the... oh, God." The blood was coming from small cuts on Sheppard's right wrist. The knife he used was next to him on the floor of the stall. "What did you do?" Rodney whispered. "What did you _do_?!" he shouted and Sheppard winced.

"It's not... it's not like that..." Sheppard sounded drunk and he still wasn't shivering, even though his skin was icy and clammy. "'S'not..."

The cuts were very small and all but one had closed already, which wasn't much of a surprise considering how cold Sheppard must be. He wrapped Sheppard's wrist in one of the towels. "Get up," Rodney demanded roughly. "Get up, you stupid son of a bitch! We need to get you warm before you pass out."

"Faint," Sheppard whispered. 

He didn't seem to be impeding Rodney deliberately but it was very difficult to get him to unwind from his fetal position. He must have been in the stall like that for hours, Rodney thought and his stomach clenched. What was the goddamned idiot trying to do, anyway? Kill himself, slowly?

Rodney got him up, barely, but Sheppard couldn't really support himself. His head lolled on his shoulder in a way that terrified Rodney. He wanted to hit Sheppard, wanted to shake him and yell at him, try to figure out how a guy who had everything -- looks, charisma, brains, authority -- could torture himself in such a way. What could have brought Sheppard to an empty place to cut himself and try to freeze himself to death?

It took some doing -- Sheppard wasn't much taller than Rodney and he was definitely leaner, but that lean was all muscle -- but Rodney finally got him on the bed, wrapped in the blanket which was much too thin. But Sheppard started shivering halfway across the carpet, which was a good sign.

Rodney flopped down on the bed next to him and touched his earpiece. "McKay to Weir! I've got him!"

"Rodney, where are you? Is he okay?"

Rodney was about to speak again when a weak and shaking hand landed on his arm. "Please... don't..." Sheppard whispered. There was something in his eyes that Rodney didn't want to think about.

"Rodney?"

"I found him," Rodney finally said, calming his voice with effort. "He's... he's okay."

"Oh, thank God," Weir replied. "Where are you? Does he need medical attention?"

Hell, yes, Rodney thought, but aloud, said, "No, he's okay. I'll... I'll stay with him a bit. Don't worry. I'll call you in the morning or if we need anything."

There was silence on the radio for a long moment. "Thank you, Rodney," Elizabeth finally said, very quietly. 

"No problem," Rodney replied and his voice sounded odd to his ears. "McKay out."

Sheppard was on the bed under the cover and was shivering violently now. His eyes looked bruised and haunted and his skin was still far too cold. Rodney got to his feet and began stripping. "You are going to have a lot explaining to do, you sorry son of a bitch," he said quietly. Down to his boxers and t-shirt, he unwound the blanket and pulled Sheppard to himself, yelping at the contact. "God! You're freezing! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Sorry... so sorry..." Sheppard's voice was so faint Rodney had to strain to hear it. 

He shook his head. "That isn't going to sufficient, you bastard." He wrapped his arms and legs around Sheppard, giving him as much body heat as he could. The violent shivering gradually slowed to muscular twitches, then finally subsided altogether. Sheppard's eyes were closed but his lips and cheeks were a more normal color and Rodney breathed easier. 

He'd left his vest on the bed and he reached for it, getting the water and the powerbars out. "You need to eat. I'll bet you haven't had anything since yesterday, either, have you?"

Sheppard didn't answer, but let Rodney tip some water into his mouth and chewed when Rodney shoved a piece of powerbar into his mouth. He was still so damn passive. Rodney clung to his anger because otherwise he would have felt utter terror and that just wouldn't do.

Finally, Sheppard finished one whole powerbar and his muscles began to relax. Rodney closed his eyes and thought hard about lights; panels in the wall and ceiling began to glow as he did. He looked around and realized that there were things Sheppard had to have brought with him, one time or another. Not the bed, probably, but there were glasses and dishes in the kitchen and the blanket had a tag which proclaimed it had been made in Taiwan. Towels in the bathroom...

"You've been here before," he murmured. He hadn't realized he'd said it aloud until Sheppard replied.

"Yeah. It's... quiet here."

Sheppard's voice sounded utterly exhausted. Rodney pulled away sufficiently to see Sheppard better. The guy had his eyes closed but there was faint color in his cheeks, probably from embarrassment. Well, that was tough. "Okay, I didn't call Carson, I didn't tell Elizabeth how I found you, so now it's your turn," Rodney said, not even trying to keep the harshness out of his voice. "What the hell were you doing here, you fucked up asshole? You could have _died_ and no one would have known!"

"No... I wouldn't have," Sheppard said in the same small voice he'd been using since he woke. "Shallow cuts. To kill yourself, you cut up the arm, deep, not across the wrist."

It was Rodney's turn to shake. Carefully, he extricated himself from the blanket, tucking it around Sheppard's neck. He sat on the bed and tried to keep from punching Sheppard as he struggled to think about what to say. While he thought, he pulled Sheppard's right arm out of the blanket and unwrapped the towel to examine the cuts. There were five of them, very shallow, and all had closed. 

That's not what made all the breath leave him as if he'd been sucker-punched, though. No, that was from the sight of the network of little, white lines surrounding the new cuts, on both sides of his wrist. "Christ." Suddenly, Rodney felt very much like crying. "You always wear that stupid wrist-band," he muttered. "How long...?"

Sheppard's eyes closed. "Since my mother died." His breath was rasping. "She killed herself. Cut up the arms, deep, the right way. In the bathroom." Rodney almost wanted to stop up his ears, but he forced himself to remain quiet, forced himself to _listen_ to his friend. "I found her, when I got home from school."

"Oh, Christ." Rodney swallowed again, trying to get the lump in his throat to go away. "How old...?"

"I was twelve." 

Rodney closed his eyes, then put his hand over them for good measure, but he didn't say a word. Sheppard needed Heightmeyer, needed Carson, or even Elizabeth. He didn't need a self-absorbed jackass like Rodney McKay. But he was the only one around and John Sheppard had saved his fucking _life_ , more than once. He could sit still and listen.

"I went to live with my grandparents and I eventually stopped the cutting. When I was seventeen, I joined up, went to college as ROTC with the Air Force. The shrink who saw me cleared me for duty, said the cuts were old, said that I'd stopped."

"Why?" Rodney breathed.

Sheppard didn't answer the question he was asking, though. "It was the only way I could be sure to fly. To fly and to... to not kill people, not go... you know, hand to hand. I fly everything with wings and some without and yeah, I've dumped a load or two but I've never had to... to..."

To kill someone face to face, Rodney thought, his heart breaking.

"I won awards, you know," Sheppard continued. His voice sounded very small and very lost. "Sharpshooter awards. Show me a paper target and I'll kill the hell out of it. Doesn't matter with what. But paper doesn't bleed. It doesn't... make a sound when the bullet... it doesn't bleed."

It took Rodney a few moments to get his voice under control. "Elizabeth told me, something about your record. Something about you disobeying orders."

"You don't leave men behind," Sheppard said and for a moment, his voice was normal, firm and in control. "They wanted me to leave my buddies behind, leave the wounded we were supposed to be evacuating behind. You don't do that."

"Where?"

"Afghanistan. In Kabul." Sheppard took a deep, shaky breath. "I think I killed there, too, I remember firing, laying down a cover fire, trying to get the wounded into my bird. But the first time I ever killed someone, looking straight into his eyes..." He swallowed, hard. "It was Colonel Sumner. My commanding officer. And that put me in charge. And I wished like hell the Wraith had killed me too."

"Is that when you started up again, doing the... the...?"

"No. I started that in Afghanistan."

"Didn't anyone stop you? Didn't anyone _know_?"

"No. It's easy to hide."

"Not from yourself." Sheppard's eyes flew open at Rodney's sad words. He looked hard into Rodney's face, looking for something, but Rodney closed his eyes and turned away. 

"No," he finally said. "But that's not the point."

"What _is_ the point?" Rodney demanded, though he still couldn't look at Sheppard.

"To relieve the pain. To let it bleed out. I killed twelve men and probably fifty more when I raised the shield. But twelve of them have a bullet I fired in their bodies."

"You were defending--"

"I could have used the Wraith weapon," Sheppard interrupted him, his voice becoming as harsh as Rodney's. "I could have stunned them, trussed them up, set them aside. But I didn't. I even made Ford put the stunner down, told him to shoot to kill, not to stun, not to incapacitate. I was so damn angry, wanted to kill Kolya for what he was doing, what he had done." Sheppard reached out and touched the bandage on Rodney's arm. "I thought he had killed Elizabeth, was going to kill you. And that was unacceptable."

"And so you acted like the soldier you are and did what you had to do." Rodney finally found the courage to turn and face Sheppard. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment; sadness meeting sadness, finding its mate.

"And I realized, once I was done, that I'm going to have to do it again," Sheppard whispered. His eyes were dry as he rolled to his back and examined the ceiling. "Now that I'm the boss."

Rodney wanted desperately to deny that, to say no, Sheppard wouldn't have to do that, but he knew it would be a lie. He knew and Sheppard knew.

Shallow cuts.

They sat on the bed in the empty place for a long time. Outside, the darkness became complete, with only the slight phosphorescence of the waves and the endless breath of the wind marking the difference between _in_ and _out_. Finally Rodney shifted, pulled the multi-colored blanket up. "Move," he muttered, spooning up behind Sheppard, wrapping his arms around the ranking military presence in Atlantis and holding him tight.

Sheppard gave him a puzzled look but did not protest as Rodney settled the blanket over them both. Concentrating, Rodney lowered the lights until they were nearly -- but not quite completely -- out. They fell asleep like that, holding each other tightly. In the morning, the sun streamed in through the window, waking them. They got dressed without a word and went back into their city, knowing they had a lot of work before them, but also knowing they'd have a place to hide, should they need it. 

Sheppard didn't say anything but the look he gave Rodney as they left the apartment was quite clear, and it both warmed Rodney's heart and terrified him to know Sheppard would give him that much trust. Would allow him the intimacy of seeing and feeling Sheppard's pain. He only hoped he could live up to the trust his friend gave him, afraid he could not. Afraid all he could do was try.

end


End file.
